


Each Day the Worst Is Over

by deadcourf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Female Character, Food Trucks, Genderfluid Character, Lesbian Character, M/M, Oblivious Enjolras, Pansexual Character, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcourf/pseuds/deadcourf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>R owns a crêperie on the go in a food truck on Avenue of the Americas in NYC after escaping to the US in search of a new life, forgetting every last bit of his harrowing past. That is, until it resurfaces before him in the shape of a small, blond man with every hopes of creating a future full of life, full of adventure, and maybe, just maybe, a man he'd once loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've ever written any e/r fic so pls bear with me as i try to get a hang of it. 
> 
> also i have a vague idea of where the story will go, so the tags could change between now and the next time i post! i have high hopes for this thing to work out

What a lazy day this Monday morning was proving to be. The sun had made its brilliant debut at half-past five, a time during which Grantaire had been fast asleep. That was, until his scrappy little alley cat pawed at his nose, begging him for breakfast. At that point, Grantaire had already been tossing and turning in bed, about a second away from waking up from a restless sleep. Regardless of whether or not he was destined to wake up at dawn, he still grumbled when he rolled off his mattress and fell flat on the floor.

“Fudging….furgh,” he cursed, his voice muffled by the shag rug underneath the mattress. He really had to get a bed frame one of these days. 

Maybe if business ran well today he’d be able to afford one. Actually, maybe he’d actually be able to afford _something_ with that goddamn piece of shit truck. His profits had been dangerously low lately, even for him, because of a truck across the street who was selling his rival breakfast food: the _waffle_. A lot of his friends (mostly Eponine, his neighbor beside him in this ratty apartment complex) asked him why the crepe and the waffle were such sworn enemies.

“Because most Americans don’t know a beautifully succulent French cuisine from a stale piece of cardboard when they see one.”

So he kept on with his business, handing out perfectly rounded crepes with either soft fruits or savory meats to any customer that met his price. Given the other competitive food trucks on the Avenue of the Americas in the ‘Big Apple’, he had to step up his game if he wanted to pay his rent this month. But all of that aside, Grantaire tried to enjoy the warmth of the sun overhead, this being the first glimpse of the golden star in the past week.

He had set up shop that morning at 8 AM, prompt like he always was, ready to start the day. Normally he had a ten-hour work day. Today, however, he had promised Gavroche, Eponine’s young brother, that he would go see a movie with him. The poor little guy had been asking Grantaire for weeks to hang out with him one of these nights when he knew he could spare an hour or two and close early. And today just so happened to be one of those nights. Gav had been more than delighted when Grantaire said he would knock on his door around 4 PM.

Only an hour had gone by when Grantaire let his mind begin to wander. People were actually avoiding his truck instead of glancing curiously at the intricate designs on the side of it, which made up the menus for the various crepes he sold. It wasn’t unlike the city folk to rush by his truck and not even give it a second glance, but it still hurt when they did. Didn’t they understand that he wanted nothing more than to be in their shoes and not running a on-the-go creperie on the streets of New York City?

_They clearly don’t, R. Otherwise they would be giving you their money._

He sighed and grabbed his phone before he hoped out of the truck. There was a bench in front of his spot on the street where he could sit and play some shit game on his shit phone. You would think in this day and age that they would stop selling cheap flip phones, but apparently that wasn’t the case. Grantaire sat by his truck for another hour or so, texting Jehan - who had only just given him their number after a very long and cumbersome courtship - or playing that weird snake game.

 

from _JEHAN_ at 9:14 AM

**Are you still faffing around on the job?**

 

to _JEHAN_ at 9:15 AM

um, not faffing, definitely working

 

from _JEHAN_ at 9:17 AM

**For the cunning young man you usually are, you aren’t the most convincing liar.**

 

to _JEHAN_ at 9:18 AM

uh EXCUSE YOU i am a wonderful liar???

 

from _JEHAN_ at 9:19 AM

**Sure, darling, and I’m the worst-dressed person in all of New York City.**

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, smirked at Jehan’s witty banter. He could always count on them to lift his spirit when work was particularly slow. There was a second, just after hitting reply to Jehan’s text, where he thought about inviting them over for a crepe, on the house, when a shadow fell over him. All Grantaire could see, however, was a pair of scuffed wingtips and the flat side of a messenger bag. He lifted his chin to peer curiously at the stranger standing before him, and was soon met by a bedraggled flop of hair paired with a solemn stare.

“You own this _crêperie_ of sorts, yes?” the stranger asked; his voice was monotonous from what Grantaire could only guess was sleep deprivation. Not only that, but he detected a hint of a Parisian accent. It was faint, but it was there.

“Yes, yes I do,” he replied, fumbling to jump back into the truck. He fought the urge to reply in French in fear that he had been wrong in his judgements. “Sorry, I just wasn’t… see the foot traffic is just not the best today and I… you know, it’s funny that you ask…”

“Please, can I just have a banana and nutella crêpe?”

Grantaire looked up from his nervous fluttering to _really_ look at the guy standing in front of his truck. The man’s shirt was crumpled underneath a deep maroon sweater, his pants needed to be ironed since they were wrinkled as all hell, and his socks didn’t match. After giving him the once over, Grantaire decided that he wasn’t sleep deprived, but quite the opposite.

“Slept through the alarm, huh?” he queried as he gathered the ingredients for the man’s desired crepe. “I hate days like those. Worst case is they fire you, right? Wrong. Worst case is that they let it slide and it happens again.”

The guy gave no sign of having heard what Grantaire said, but rather focused all of his energy and attention at the tiny blackberry in his hands. _Quite large hands if you ask me. A bit unnatural for a man his size. What is he, up to my shoulders? Possibly even shorter than that, but it’s not like I had the chance to…_

“Sorry,” the other man sighed. If he kept rubbing at his eyes like he was, he was going to have a serious reddish glow to him. “I have a really big meeting today that I simply can’t miss, so I don’t the time necessary for small talk. How much?”

“Seven dollars.”

Grantaire watched as the man scrunched his nose in confusion.

“Is that a bit much for a crêpe?”

“Well, uh,” Grantaire’s cheeks reddened so deeply that there was no doubt his skeptical customer could tell he was blushing. “It’s actually a, um, discounted price.”

“Well, then thank you, um… ?”

Grantaire sprinkled some powdered sugar on the crêpe as a finishing touch. When he looked up to hand it over, he realized his mistake. “ _Oh_ , m-my name? You can just call me R.”

“R? Like some kind of pirate?”

“What, like you have a better name?”

“Uh, well _no_. But it is a bit more of a mouthful.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Come on, what is it?”

The mystery man, obviously gauging whether or not it was worth sharing this part of himself witha guy who ran a food truck, scoffed. He tipped his head back, eyes searching the sky for something unknown to Grantaire. Possibly he was just wasting time until Grantaire told him to forget about it, pay him the cash due and be on with his day. For some reason, though, Grantaire wasn’t ready to give up this, whatever _this_ was. Fate, maybe?

He almost laughed to himself. _Fuck that. This guy is hot, that’s why you want his name. Maybe even his number or a tip if he could spare it._

“Listen, I have all day to wait,” he chided, “but _you_ clearly don’t. Out with it already.”

“It’s Enjolras.”

If Grantaire still had the crêpe in his hands, he would have surely dropped it. _Enjolras? No… it can’t be, that’s… that’s almost impossible._

_Almost._

He tried not to choke on the next few words that came out of his mouth. “Enj-Enjolras? Wow, that’s a, uh, very unique name. Haven’t heard that one before.” The laugh that bubbled up out of him sounded more forced than he had meant it to be. Grantaire cleared his throat, checking the time on his phone.

Enjolras tilted his head, ever so slightly, to its side, his eyes resting on Grantaire’s restless hands. “It is, isn’t it? Anyway, I should be off.” 

He reached for his messenger bag, probably for his wallet, saying, “But I’ll pay you for your services first. Guys like you save the lives of guys like me, rushing from place to place with no time to stop for a decent meal.” Realizing what he said, he stuttered and a single curl fell forward to cover part of the left half of his face. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant, uh-“

“It’s fine, totally fine,” Grantaire cut him off. Sweat was already collecting on his brow. _I have to get out of this, right now._ “Don’t worry, ’s on the house. Free of charge! Have a nice day!”

With that said, he pull a cord by the window and the metal awning flapped shut, cloaking him in darkness and cutting him off from the piercing blue eyes of his no-longer-a-mystery mystery man. Grantaire heaved a soul-shattering sigh and slumped against the counter behind him. How could he have not recognized Enjolras? Even after all of these years, one should remember a face as beautiful as that… eyes as deep as that… _hair_ as _golden_ as that…

“And you’ve just made yourself look like an idiot in front of him,” he grumbled. “Good one, ‘taire. Nice going.”

Now he just had to hope his golden-haired, soft-eyed, living memory of the past would never return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some insight into Enj & Grantaire's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of drug use.
> 
> i'm going to try and update once a week - probably on thursdays. this is a day early bc i won't have access to wifi tomorrow.

Tomorrow was his 18th birthday, which meant tomorrow he would be free.

Grantaire leaned his head back against the window frame, letting his foot dangle above the city. Before he left the wretched foster care of the Faucheux’s, he decided it would be nice to spend his last night in the presence of a beautiful city skyline, the sunset, the stars. Anything that promised him a brighter, more peaceful future.

“ _Grantaire, es-tu là-bas?_ ”

He smirked. _Right on time, just like he always is._

“Ouaip, viens ici,” he called down to the golden-haired boy gazing up at him. “ _Unless you can’t climb a simple two story house._ ”

The boy scoffed, “Do you not even know me, R?” But he spoke too soon. His first attempt at climbing the downspout clearly failed as Grantaire could tell from the grumbling and rattling of the spout against the brick wall.

“Enj,” he whined, “you’re taking _forever_.”

Enjolras muttered his bitter response before heaving himself onto the downspout once more. This time he was successful and suddenly a hand was tugging on the cuff of Grantaire’s pant leg. He peered over the edge of the window sill and met the eyes of his loving boyfriend. The look on Enjolras’ face was priceless, that and the dirt hanging by his chin.

“Get up here already,” Grantaire rolled his eyes, a smile toying his lips, and reached down to give Enjolras a hand. Together they hoisted him up onto the ledge, where Grantaire made room for the other boy to sit. “Now that’s better.”

Humming in agreement, Enjolras leaned forward to give Grantaire a chaste peck on the lips.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“That it is. Did you get me something special?”

“Oh no, I’m not telling. Wait until tomorrow, you eager bastard.”

Grantaire feigned incredulity. “How dare you curse the birthday boy! That’s, like, sacrilege. Or something.”

“Oh, so now you’re comparing yourself to God? How high and mighty of you,” Enj laughed, dodging Grantaire’s closed fist. “Careful! I don’t want you to die before the big one-eight.”

“Trust me, _Apollo_ , it would be a blessing.”

The scowl was present even in his words. A commotion across the street caught his attention, his head rolling to the side to see what was going on. Meanwhile, he could sense Enjolras watching him with a guarded expression. Despite their relationship really only beginning a few weeks ago, Enj already knew Grantaire enough not to push him too far, not to question his cynical comments, especially whilst sitting on a window ledge.

“R, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Those were a collection of words that would send anyone’s heart rate into a thundering frenzy. However, knowing that Enjolras was leaving for university soon, Grantaire had an even worse feeling about what was to come next out of his boyfriend’s mouth. A mouth he could watch and touch and kiss forever. A mouth he could sculpt and paint and sketch forever.s

Grantaire cleared his throat. “What is it?” He tried his best not to panic, but he couldn’t help the trembling of his fingertips. Nor could he help noticing that Enj’s hands were shaking as well.

“I’m going to university soon,” he began. After a pause, he looked up at Grantaire through his long eyelashes, searching his partner’s eyes. For what, Grantaire had no idea. “And… I wanted to ask you… well, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I have a hunch as to what you will say, but I can’t know for sure until I _have_ asked…”

“Christ… _Apollo just spit it out already_.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and sucked in a huge breath. He squeezed his eyelids tighter as he asked, “Will you move in with me?”

 

Fast forward to present day and Grantaire was lying upside down on the couch in his apartment. Eponine sat on the floor across from him, a plastic blue bowl of burnt popcorn in her lap. She gasped dramatically, her eyes popping wide, and dropped a piece of popcorn back into the bowl. Grantaire fought the urge to roll his eyes, mostly because he didn’t want to make himself dizzy. He realized now that he had let too much blood rush to his head by sitting like this.

“What happened then?” Eponine urged him on. “There’s no way it just ended there. What did you say to him? Did you move in? Did you dump his ass and buy your plane ticket to the States? _Tell meeee._ ”

“Give me a sec, would you?” he sighed, rubbed a hand over his eyes. “It’s not like I enjoy talking about leaving the man I was in love with _ten years ago._ ”

“It’s been ten fucking years? R, what the hell did you do?”

“I panicked and said no! I was thinking about what kind of a shitty person I was and thought that moving in with him was like tying the knot, or something. I was a college dropout, just scraping by with the money I earned from selling my art, and I was scared. I was _so scared_ because I thought he would see who I really was and break up with me and I’d end up on the street or get coked up and die in an alleyway somewhere…”

“Jesus, R, I had no idea…”

He snorted, swinging his legs around to sit upright on the couch. “Yeah, well, I’m always full of surprises, aren’t I?”

“I’ll say,” Eponine sighed. 

In the silence that followed, Grantaire took the time to study his newfound city friend. She had basically grown up in the streets of New York City. Her parents, M. and Mm. Thernadier were born and bred from France, but had moved to the States to find a better, more luxurious lifestyle. Little did they know that what they were looking for was hard to come by, even in the land of the (not so) free. Eventually they found a storefront for sale cheap by Times Square and set up a tourist shop, raking in as much cash as they could and sleeping in the apartment built above.

Meanwhile, Eponine and her little brother Gavroche spent their days running the store and their nights roaming the city. Every once in a while they pandered for extra cash to spend on themselves. It turned out that the brother and sister, in their ratty clothes and dirty faces, worked better as a duo. Soon enough Eponine had enough money to move out of their parents’ shitty apartment and buy her own. That was when she met Grantaire. 

And here they were now, sitting in his shabby, poorly-furnished apartment, talking about his long-forgotten love life. He actually couldn’t believe that it had been _ten years ago_ when he met Enjolras Fauchelevent. What had the boy - now a man - been up to all of these years? Grantaire had so many questions about his life during those ten years and was afraid he would never have the chance to ask them all. The thought weighed heavily on him.

“So,” Eponine interrupted his thoughts, “want to head over to Jehan’s and get fucked up beyond belief?”

“I don’t know, Ep. Everything just feels… I don’t know. I don’t feel right, like I’m already fucked up beyond belief.”

“Well we all know _that_ ,” she scoffed.

This time Grantaire did roll his eyes and tossed a couch cushion at her for good measure. She swatted it away with a flick of her wrist. When it flew across the room and smacked the wall opposite them, they gave each other their gravest expression… and promptly burst into laughter. Grantaire ended up clutching his stomach and falling to the floor, literally rolling on the floor laughing. Eponine cackled even harder at the sight of him.

Something buzzed in Grantaire’s back pocket, momentarily distracting him from their giggle fit. He reach underneath him and pulled out his cellphone. It was a text from Jehan, asking him to come over to their apartment later.

Eponine let the last of her giggles fade away. “Who is it?”

“Jehan. They asked me to come over later.”

“Oh, so it’s one of _those_ nights, is it?”

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”

“I see.” Eponine, the last of her laughter having slipped away, brushed herself off and stood. She brought the bowl of popcorn with her to the door, hugging it close to her chest. “Regardless, give Jehan my best. I’m sure I’ll hear from them soon.”

And on that note, she was gone. Grantaire hadn’t even had enough time to get up from his spot on the floor to see her out of his apartment. No matter how well they knew each other, or how long they had known each other, she would always have the ability to sneak away like that, before he even had the chance to blink.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll totally talk to you later. No, no, see yourself out. Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled to himself. “I’ll just sit here, then.”

_I’ll just sit here and worry if I’ve once again let the golden god Apollo slip through my fingers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire, es-tu là-bas? // Grantaire, are you up there?
> 
> Ouaip, viens ici. // Yep, come up here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire isn't the only one worrying about Enjolras' possible return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha remember when i said every thursday... yeah that didn't go over well (my excuse is that i got preoccupied and wasn't in the mood to write)
> 
> anyway sorry for the string of short chapters but i can't seem to write more than i have been. i kind of like them short? also sorry for the cliffhanger lmao except not really

If the alarm hadn’t woken him up, certainly the tickle of Jehan’s nose rubbing the side of his cheek would have eventually done the trick.

“Morning,” they murmured. Grantaire could feel their smiling lips trailing along his jaw. “Off to work so soon? Can’t we go get breakfast together?”

Grantaire swung his legs out from underneath the covers, looking for his jeans and shoes. The floor was a mess. Discarded film, various phone chargers, blank polaroids and crumpled clothing. Truly the bedroom of an artist. He admired Jehan for their ability to appear beautifully messy, envied them, actually.

“Why don’t you come with me to the truck? Crêpes are on me today.”

Jehan raised their eyebrows, feigning shock. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” Grantaire grinned as he shrugged on his t-shirt and watched Jehan ready themself for the day. “I just have to stop by my apartment to grab the keys.”

He waited until Jehan had brushed their teeth and given their hair a good tousle before the pair linked arms and left Jehan’s. The sun breaking through the clouds and resting just behind the skyscrapers, under which he and Jehan would soon be.

 

Enjolras bent forward over the sink, both hands gripping the edge. His nose met the cold surface of the bathroom mirror, his eyes pouring into themselves. He searched for the memories, the moments, the seconds that he had spent ten years ago.

He searched for the man from the crêperie truck and found it difficult to find the source of their connection. Not like he was one to forget such a face as R’s, one that was truly unforgettable in all sense of the word, but rather he wasn’t really one keen on remembering. Millions of things slipped his mind constantly, which was why he had begun to keep a journal starting this year.

So he could remember faces like R’s when it seemed like it would be important later. Because R’s face, R _himself_ , seemed to be important. Otherwise, he would have shaken off their awkward encounter yesterday already.

Regardless, Enjolras was going to stop by the crêperie-on-the-go before work again, except now he was going to be on time. Combeferre hadn’t been too happy when he walked into the office later than his usual _late_. But all Enjolras could do was mumble his blame on a faulty alarm clock and sneak away to his desk.

“Let’s do this,” he whispered to himself as he shoved off from the bathroom counter.

He grabbed his coat, a deep maroon with shimmering gold buttons, and his shoulder bag and set off for the Avenue.

 

“Do you think he’ll show up again?” Jehan asked with a mouthful of crepe and whipped cream.

Grantaire was too busy cleaning his pan to hear what they had said. “Come again?”

“Your angsty teenage lover. Do you think he’ll come back for another glimpse of his Parisian prince?” They quickly shuffled backwards to avoid being sprinkled with a cloud of powdered sugar. Jehan gasped, bending over their crepe. “Do _not_ get that confectionery shit all over this blouse or I _will_ stab you with this plastic fork.”

Both they and Grantaire broke into a fit of belly-grasping-laughter. On account of the stress that this day held for them, they desperately hung onto anything that distracted them from what could happen. It was the _what if’s_ that were fogging their conscious and overpowering their attention.

_What if Enjolras does come back?_

_What if Grantaire tosses me aside?_

_What if all those horrid memories return?_

_What if I’m sent back into that dark whirlpool I once lived in?_

Both suddenly worried about their past and how this one moment could affect their future. More so than Jehan, Grantaire was worried about a life he had had with the boy he had once loved. The other feared losing the life he had created with the boy he currently loved. Loved as a friend, as a lover, as a partner in crime.

So of course they let out every single one of those _what if’s_ with that two minutes of non-stop laughter.

“Okay, okay,” Grantaire said between the last few giggles. “Okay, I need to get my act together.”

“What do you mean? You haven’t had your act together for years.”

“Jehan…”

“Sorry, right. But still, what do you mean by that?”

Grantaire sighed, putting the pan down on the counter. He had been trying to think about what exactly he meant by that before the words had even come out of his mouth.

“I’m starting to think that there could be a possibility… if he ever stops by again… that _something_ could start up again between us. But then I remember how our relationship ended and all the fights we had, the words we exchanged, and the bitterness of it all.” 

He tossed the pan towards the sink in the back corner of the truck, turning away from Jehan to hide his 

“Well…”

“And I can remember his exact reaction to when I said no. The way his eyes cast down onto the street below us and the way his lips were caught in a surprised… no, a _shocked_ pause, his eyebrows practically popped up to the moon and the _sound_ of disbelief in his voice when he said goodnight. I thought I would never see him again.”

“Grantaire…”

“No, Jehan, just… I haven’t talked about this in _ten years_. I’ve had it all bottled up and stowed away and never addressed how _stupid_ I had been in that one moment. I should have said yes. I loved him, Jehan. How do you say no to spending your entire life with someone you love? How could I say no to Enjolras? Jehan, how could—“

Grantaire spun around, his hands now gripping the tufts of his hair that poked free from his slouched beanie. The second he realized that he and Jehan weren’t alone was the second he realized his heart had stopped beating. After that moment suspended in time, his heart returned to its usual scheduled beating, except now it felt like he was at the last leg of running a marathon. He tightened his grip to stop his hands from shaking.

There, beside Jehan, his expression the same as it had been ten years ago, stood Enjolras Fauchelevent. His eyes bore an unfamiliar sense of wonder, one that Grantaire couldn’t remember seeing the night where it all went wrong.

Both he and Enjolras held each other’s gaze for what felt like a century. Then, finally, the latter turned his head aside, cleared his throat. Grantaire held his breath in anticipation.

“R,” — he shuddered at the use of that name on those lips once again — “I think we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also in case ur wondering, jehan and grantaire's relationship is consensual and mostly healthy (except for the times they utilize sex as a way to forget the worser parts of the lives they are living)


End file.
